All For One
by Late2SGA
Summary: A mission to establish a trading partnership becomes a 'teamship' initiation for Ronon when the Team encounters malicious strangers... Takes place S2, after Duet. Team fic. More whump than my usual.
1. All For One - Chapter 1

~ All For One ~

An Author's Note follows the chapter.

Word Count, Chapter 1: 1710

Characters: Sheppard, Rodney, Teyla, Ronon.

Rating: K+/T- for more-than-my-usual whump (depends on how graphic your own imagination is!). Minor language.

Disclaimer: 'Stargate Atlantis' and its characters are not mine. I would not have left them under the aegis of those whose interest lay elsewhere.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

"How many trading partners do we need anyway?" Rodney McKay, Astrophysicist Extraordinaire, asked grumpily. "This trip will probably produce nothing more than a bag of beans." He huffed a bit, partly in disapproval, but non-stop commentary while maintaining the team's pace made him short of breath.

The four of them were in a valley, walking through a wide, open field with green-turning-brown scrub vegetation. The path from the Gate followed a tree-lined meandering stream. The air was warm and humid, with a slight oncoming breeze to make it feel cool. John Sheppard looked at the steep walls on either side and thought of lateral moraines ~ boulders the size of houses and high ridges of earth appeared occasionally on the valley floor, most likely deposited by some glacier in a bygone era.

John tried to smooth the ruffled temper of the team scientist. "We can't spend all our time looking for leads to track down ZPMs. We need intel and friends." He lightened his approach. "We introduce ourselves to the neighbors, explain the neighborhood watch, we make nice. If we have to, we get some beans." And enjoy a nice, easy day for a change, John thought; they didn't have to be on the alert during a visit to Teyla's friends.

"Beans versus ZedPM. I am not comforted by the fact that you and Elizabeth seem to think they're of equal importance."

Teyla, ever the diplomat, interjected a calm rationale. "Colonel Sheppard is correct; we cannot fight the Wraith without allies." She altered her tone as she added inducement. "And this world has a plant from which is derived a beverage that tastes somewhat like your coffee..."

There was a minor pause while McKay pondered a ready supply of almost-coffee before he determined, "It's still beans, so we'll have walked all this way for not-very-much."

"You talk too much."

John was glad Ronon had finally joined the conversation, but the big guy had to know he'd just pushed McKay's button. As much as John could see the advantages of having Ronon on the team, he wasn't sure Ronon felt the same about being a team member. The man had been on his own for a long time ~ years, and adjusting to people and making decisions as part of a group had to be difficult for him. And probably harder was taking orders. More difficult still was looking at the larger picture, since his aim for so long had been entirely personal. The attitude John was picking up on Ronon's part was 'impatient resignation'; Ronon had agreed to be part of the mission and as such he would do what was required of him, but it was clear he was chafing at what he, like McKay, considered to be a waste of time. The other side of the issue was the team trying to adjust to a new member. In some corner of John's mind it felt as if they were abandoning Ford, not taking on a needed, _interim_ team component.

Before McKay had time to respond to Ronon's comment, the team emerged from a copse of trees and rounded a huge boulder to find the town. John's first impression was of a large, old-west farming community, surrounded by crops, a main street with businesses, and residential areas parallel to the central avenue. At the outskirts the team passed dwellings with smaller attendant structures that John assumed were for animals. The houses were of simple design, the streets laid out in a grid. The area was well kempt and appeared to be prosperous, but... There was no activity. In the segment of town within his view, paths, yards and streets were empty. And John felt as if he were being watched, as if, behind the curtains, everyone followed the team's progress.

John walked briskly to the nearest house and knocked firmly on the door. He turned the doorknob and entered. Single story, minimal plumbing, essentially a one-room dwelling with a few extra walls. The place looked lived-in, but empty. "Not abandoned, exactly, just no one home," he reported.

"I do not understand," Teyla remarked as the four stood in the dust of the road and observed the stillness. "I have not personally visited for several years, but these people have been our trading partners for generations. Our last trade was not very long ago. Are there no life signs?" She addressed the question to McKay, who was pulling a handscanner from a pocket.

Ronon suddenly left the group and with a few quick steps reached around the corner of a blacksmith shop and from behind a bush brought forth a squiggling, complaining fury of elbows.

"Let me go! Stop it! Put me down!"

"Quiet." Ronon had the teen by the collar of his tunic and his hold was high enough that the youth was barely touching ground as he twisted and yanked while walking on his toes.

"Ronon. Ronon! Let him go!" Teyla ordered as the two approached the team. "I believe I know him. Ehrlim?"

"Teyla! I thought it was you." At his release Ehrlim moved to place Teyla between himself and Ronon while he eyed the big man carefully. "That's why I came forward."

"You have grown so much since I last saw you," Teyla exclaimed. "Jinto is always trying to catch up on your four-year difference. With Halling as father, I think he is gaining on you," she joked. "Where is everyone? Why are you the only one here?"

John felt Ehrlim's quick perusal of himself and McKay, but the teen's gaze remained on Ronon with fear and suspicion.

"Ehrlim, I would like you to meet my friends. John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, and this is Ronon Dex," Teyla said.

Ehrlim nodded at the two smaller men, but still kept his distance and maintained a wary eye on Ronon.

Teyla grabbed Ehrlim's shoulders and turned him to face her. "Where is everyone? What has happened here?"

As if a choice had been made, Ehrlim finally turned his eyes toward Teyla. "You have to leave. And you need to be quiet."

"Ehrlim, you must tell us. What is going on?"

"Raiders."

Teyla sucked in her breath and let go of the youth. "I see no sign of a culling, but the Wraith have come?"

Ehrlim shook his head. "Only raiders. We know of three other worlds that are also raided. We have a system and are safe until the raiders leave. I am the watcher this turn. You have to leave. And you must be quiet. Go!" He pointed in the direction of the Gate. "You have to hurry!"

"But where is everyone?" Teyla wanted to know.

"I think I know," McKay answered. He adjusted his LSD and tapped a few keys. "There's a whole mass of people-" He looked up from the scanner and pointed toward an outcropping in the valley wall. "...over there, I'd say in underground caves or tunnels and judging by energy readings-" He tapped more buttons. "...probably non-people as well. It's hard to tell."

"Livestock," Ronon verified.

"Raiders?" John inquired, looking at Teyla, then Ronon.

Teyla spoke with distaste. "They usually arrive in the aftermath of a culling, when the world is still in confusion."

John said slowly, "I'm missing something. These guys are thieves. Scavengers," he clarified, "who normally take advantage of chaos to pick up a few things, but here, today-," he looked around, "no culling, no confusion, but no one stops them?"

Teyla shook her head vigorously. "They are raiders, not scavengers. Scavengers visit only vacant worlds that are abandoned. Sometimes people return after a major culling to salvage items to take to their new world, or strangers come looking for things to sell; it is an unpleasant, solitary task, but one can make a living." She gestured at the team. "We are scavengers because we go to deserted worlds seeking Ancestor artifacts." She hurried past McKay's attempt to protest, speaking intensely to emphasize. "Raiders travel in numbers. They are organized and they attack occupied worlds." She firmed her lips in disgust. "Not all humans share a kinship because of the Wraith."

"They deal in everything," Ronon inserted. "Goods, livestock," and he added meaningfully, "people."

"Okay, guys, that's it. Let's go," John ordered.

"Uh, we do need to hurry." McKay's voice shook. "There are nine scattered dots slowly moving our way." He pointed to the other side of town and drew a horizontal line with his finger.

"Search party," Ronon confirmed. "Checking buildings."

"Where is Ehrlim?" Teyla asked in alarm.

John grabbed the loop at the nape of McKay's vest and yanked the man around to head back the way they had come. "I think Ehrlim knows what he's doing, a lot better than we do. C'mon!"

With weapons in hand the group was on the run. McKay suddenly halted in John's grip. "We won't make it." He was looking at the scanner. He pointed off to the side. "Seven more."

"Crap. Do they know we're here?" John asked urgently in a hushed voice. McKay looked blank. "Are they running? Has there been a change in their speed or direction? ...Rodney!"

McKay jerked and looked down. "I don't think so."

Four against seven, and no way to make a first move. John looked around. Open ground ~ no way to make a headlong dash to the Gate undetected, no way to reach a nearby boulder or trees without being seen by the group coming through the brush, no way to hide; raiders were methodically searching buildings in town and foliage outside town. John could almost hear Ronon's thoughts ~ one person might avoid detection, but not four.

Indistinct voices were drawing nearer, accompanied by the swish and snap of vegetation being trampled. John grabbed the handscanner from McKay, switched it off and tossed it into the shrubbery alongside a house, relieved that he didn't also have to deal with a computer. He addressed his team. "Casual, calm, _quiet_. And be ready." If they were going to get out of this they had to avoid any ruckus that would bring the other raiders; they couldn't go up against sixteen. John eyed Rodney ~ the man was literally scared stiff. Which made it three against seven.

. . .

Author's Note: This is another story that was started, something interfered, and despite periodically having added paragraphs and whole sections, I never managed to tie it all together to finish it. The 'boost' given by reader encouragement in my previous story has helped move me to the keyboard, but my muse is being stubborn.

Shameless I am ~ I'm again soliciting feedback, or maybe virtual brownies, TNT and 'gelignite, dried crushed inspiration all mixed into a small pangalacticgargleblaster' to get things moving. Maybe like Rodney I'll work better under pressure! Is anyone interested?

Feedback (and brownies!) would be appreciated.

Thanks for reading.


	2. All For One - Chapter 2

~ All For One ~

An Author's Note follows the chapter.

Word Count, Chapter 2: 3174

Disclaimer: 'Stargate Atlantis' and its characters are not mine. I would not have left them under the aegis of those whose interest lay elsewhere.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

It was almost funny ~ a display of perfect comic timing. John watched the first few ruffians emerge from the tall brush and stop so suddenly that those following bumped into them from behind. A line of seven men spread out and their faces showed shock and confusion. John was sure they hadn't expected to find anyone, and if they did, it would be townsfolk cowering in hiding, not a small group of unconcerned unknowns in plain view.

"Howdy." John aimed a neutral smile while maintaining a loose hold on his P-90 ~ which he hoped not to use. What he needed was a Wraith stunner or some canisters of knock-out gas but his options were limited; the team purposely hadn't come 'loaded for bear' on a friendly mission to set up trade.

The lout who seemed to hold the lead position had tacitly acknowledged John as leader, but his gaze moved on, past McKay, to linger on Teyla and settle on Ronon. The other thugs still showed confusion, plus curiosity turning to suspicion.

The gang wore garb similar to old-west outlaws; comancheros came to John's mind ~ armed to the teeth and everything on display for the purpose of intimidation. There was a variety of weaponry and each goon had more than one kind of blade. Three bandits had what John thought were single-shot breech loaders, which couldn't match the rapid-fire of a P-90, but even one bullet from a slow reload could have fatal results. Two thugs possibly had a variation of the six-shooter in side holsters and ammunition belts criss-crossed on their chests. The weapons of the final two brigands might be stun or energy pulse or even projectile more advanced than the P-90; John couldn't tell.

John understood Ehrlim's reaction earlier; there was enough similarity in dress and weapons and even facial hair on some of the brutes to bear a resemblance to Ronon. And the raiders were all big men, as big or bigger than Ronon. And like Ehrlim, one member of the gang kept coming back to Ronon with his gaze.

"What are you doing here?" Lead Lout wanted to know.

John kept it light, a civil exchange between strangers. "Travelin' through. Lookin' around." He moved in, casually, politely. "We have a few groups checkin' out new ground."

"This ground's taken," the primary ogre declared.

"Well, as I said, we were just scoutin' around. We didn't know anyone had a claim here." John shrugged his shoulders. "We can leave. No hard feelings." The polite smile wasn't quite working the second time around.

The head guy glanced to his right, where his men were fairly evenly spaced. "I think trespassing will cost you," he stated, with a guttural chuckle that was meant to menace. A few predatory smiles appeared on his crew's steady-staring faces.

The Ronon-watching oaf leaned forward. "I know you."

Ronon responded with a fixed look. "I don't think so."

The leader spared a glance of curiosity before returning to John. He sneered without showing teeth and drew his weapon ~ an unknown ~ from its sheath. "Your weapons, for starters."

'For starters' meant the chief was thinking ahead, counting heads and profit. John didn't need to look to know his teammates were evenly spaced against the gang's greater number. "I don't think so." He raised his P-90, still loose and easy as he readied the weapon, hoping a show of non-compliance would keep the situation contained. "This can go down easy, or it can go down hard. You'll be first," he assured, leader to leader, just between the two of them. They both had a reason not to shoot ~ John didn't want to alert the rest of the gang, and Head Honcho didn't want damaged merchandise. John re-stated, "We didn't know you'd staked this territory and now we intend to leave."

The sneer reappeared. "A lesson is needed, so the rest of your groups won't trespass again." The villain shifted his weapon to McKay, then Teyla, then Ronon. He was still looking at John, who hadn't reacted. "You think I'm bluffing?"

Actually, John knew he wasn't. In his peripheral vision McKay's jaw dropped in disbelief, but John knew the thug would pull the trigger, as soon as he'd calculated 'market value versus effect of lesson'. John wasn't going to have an easy time of it ~ he guessed the guy probably became boss by virtue of sheer size. John had a bad feeling and sure enough, the weapon was coming back his way. He heard the snick of Teyla readying her P-90 and the slide of Ronon's gun clearing leather. The Ronon-Watcher said, "It's him! I recognize the gun!" and all Hell broke loose.

John stepped into his aggressor's reach, bypassed the weapon to seize the thick wrist, and backed under the raised arm. He shoved his hip backward, then pulled the wrist forward and down, to flip the massive body over his shoulder. With his heel on the guy's throat, John grabbed for the weapon. He could see Teyla was on her second bandit, the first having succumbed to her preemptive swing of the P-90 at the side of his head. McKay was performing a manic dog-paddle in his thug's face and it was oddly successful in keeping the ruffian at a distance. Ronon held his own against two brigands ~ his skill versus their brutish force.

Flat on his back and gasping for breath, John's opponent just would not let go of the weapon. John rotated the fight, which twisted the guy's arm, and applied pressure at a nerve spot on the hoodlum's hand; there was little success, and the goon was unsettling John's balance by shoving at the foot that was choking him. John dropped to his knee on the man's neck and rammed his palm at the lout's nose. Blood spurted, the great oaf growled, but still he maintained his grip on his weapon.

Arms grabbed John from behind. He elbowed his captor in the lower gut, felt a gust of fetid warmth and heard a grunt at his ear, but the arms held fast. They reached around John so that three people were involved in the struggle, all wrestling for the weapon. Click ~ a blue flash blinded John, pain burned his inner forearm and seared his temple. The dark went quiet.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

Well, he wasn't dead, because he had a helluva headache. John's arm throbbed. He opened his eyes just enough to see he'd been moved from the road. When he tried to sit up he knew someone had worked him over, kicked him when they thought he was dead. Or maybe because they knew he wasn't. "Sonuvabitch."

"Are you okay?"

John turned his head in the grass to find Ehrlim sitting beside him. "I'll live. I think." He rolled to his side and raised himself onto an elbow ~ and hissed. A half-hour gone, according to his inner clock, and one rib bruised; it only hurt if he breathed.

"I thought you were dead."

"The way I feel right now, that would be an improvement." John reached a hand up to his head and encountered a bandage. When he pulled it off he felt the tug of a newly forming scab above his ear. "Head wounds bleed a lot. Looks worse than it is." He dabbed at the injury with the makeshift dressing.

"I thought at first that you were hurt in the stomach, too." Ehrlim pointed to the blood on John's grey jacket.

The fight for control of the weapon had been so tight, John didn't even know how he'd been hit. There was another bandage on his forearm, and it was nearly soaked. John supposed with all the blood from his arm, held to his waist, his jacket would look soaked from a serious abdominal injury. John looked at Ehrlim's tunic, which was noticeably shorter than it had been earlier. "You do good work," John gestured to his dressed arm.

"It's still bleeding. You need doctoring."

"I'm good." John tried to stand. Pain ran through him from top to toe. He reached out to Ehrlim to steady himself. Nausea roiled. Whoever had kicked him had a lot of experience; John felt bruises on just about every square inch. Standing hurt, not to mention walking. And breathing. "Sonuvabitch," he hissed.

"We must hide. I could only drag you from the road so you wouldn't be seen when the raiders are closer. I erased the marks in the dirt, but we can't stay. They'll be here eventually."

John took as deep a breath as his rib allowed and straightened slowly. "Where'd they take my team?" He searched his jacket pockets. Nothing. They'd taken his sidearm and knife, P-90, watch, and his favorite sunglasses. He had no radio, no GDO. They hadn't checked his cargo pockets, where John found pain meds. He dry-swallowed two tablets while feeling for jackknife, matches, paper, pencil, string, chewing gum, paperclips and other small items he kept in various pockets.

"To the Ring. First they argued about your weapons. Everyone wanted to try them and they fought over who would get them. The leader ordered everyone to leave them alone and he'd decide later who would get them. Then they argued about shooting you. I don't understand why they shot you. The shorter man is worth less at market. He's not a warrior."

John closed his eyes, trying to breathe. "That's the point. They know he must have other value to be part of my team."

"The leader wants Teyla," Ehrlim said flatly in a too-old voice. "I could see it in his eyes."

John would have chuckled if he'd had the breath. "With her, he's bitten off more than he can chew." He breathed in slowly.

Ehrlim repeated the words quietly, then smiled broadly in understanding. He reached into his pants pocket and handed over the LSD. "What is this? I saw you throw it away."

"In the hands of the wrong people, 'this' is dangerous." The scanner activated when John held it. "Among other things, this tells me nine raiders are closer, but still at a distance. It also told me your people are over there, underground," John pointed, "and, with some adjustments... it tells me there are six people nearly at the Gate." John glanced up at Ehrlim's shocked face. "Where are the other four raiders? Did they leave? ...Ehrlim?"

"I don't know. I heard them discussing that there may be other groups here, looking over 'their territory'. They don't want 'any more poachers cutting in'," Ehrlim quoted.

"Crap. They think we're rivals in a turf war. Unbelievable."

"The leader is the one who took your dark glasses," Ehrlim offered. "And kicked you," he added carefully.

John wasn't surprised. The thoroughness of the working-over he'd received had a personal feel to it. The 'boss' probably felt his authority had been undermined by John's actions.

"I'm not sure, but it seemed to me he didn't want the others in town to know about you four," Ehrlim said thoughtfully.

That was good. It explained why the raiders they'd encountered hadn't fired any of their weapons intentionally and why there were still nine ~ evidently oblivious ~ raiders in town; a rivalry was possibly brewing within the raider gang. "I have to go to the Gate- the Ring. Three of them may be the best odds I'll get."

After a moment of consideration, Ehrlim spoke. "Jinto said Teyla lives in the Ancestral City and she's working with newcomers to fight the Wraith. He mentioned your name."

"Well, we're doin' our best. That's why we need friends, like you, and trading partners."

Ehrlim squared his shoulders, like a soldier giving a report. "I can take you to the Ri- the Gate and no one will see us."

"Tunnel?" John speculated.

Ehrlim nodded. "Come." At the back of a house he reached down, behind a bush, for a short strap to lift a small door. John was reminded of the old tv show, _Hogan's Heroes_ , but this was a far better design; the grass around the row of bushes was manicured and did not show their footprints, and the special bush was alive and healthy, growing in earth contained atop the trap door, which was well hidden by the bush's canopy of leaves. Nothing was out of place and there was no clue to what lay underneath.

Going down the ladder was difficult, not only because the space was narrow and steep, but John could feel every ache and bruise at each rung. His ankle was swelling in his boot, his leg felt as if someone had used a baseball bat, and raising his arm to grip the ladder just wasn't possible ~ even without breathing.

"There are ten tunnel entrances in town that lead to the underground caves," Ehrlim lectured quietly. "The caves have always been here." From a metal bin on the floor he grabbed one of the small wooden torches and lit the tallow end. "Some of the tunnels were already here. We had to enlarge those and build new ones. We built a tunnel to the Gate so the watcher can warn everyone. The watcher has to be a good runner. It's shorter than the aboveground path from the Gate, but a watcher still has to run."

John was impressed. This wasn't an underground cavern built by nature, this was extensive engineering. The tunnel was not large; people would have to travel at most two abreast and anyone much taller than John himself would have to duck. There was ventilation and the tunnel was well maintained. It looked like an indoor hallway, with large beams and wood paneling; the construction was probably meant to dampen sound. There were bins of tallowed torches ready to be placed in low wall sconces along the way. Small recesses appeared at the ceiling edge at regular intervals. "What are those?" John asked softly.

From a bracket on the wall Ehrlim took a length of pipe that had a right-angle turn at top and bottom. He slid the pipe slowly upward into an indentation. A bit of light filtered down at the edge of the ceiling. "Come see. Quiet," he whispered.

John looked through the pipe, which he realized must have a setup of mirrors. Another page from _Hogan's Heroes_ , because John was sure a small divot topside had risen above the foliage tops as he peered through the periscope. He thought he recognized the view. "We're about halfway to the Gate?"

Ehrlim nodded. "I saw you all on the path. Can you hurry?"

The meds had helped, but John wasn't going to run a marathon anytime soon. He looked at the LSD. Still only three raiders at the Gate, so at least the odds hadn't changed.

When they were coming to the end of the tunnel, Ehrlim left the torch in a sconce and signaled John to be quiet. He took a pipe from its wall bracket and used the periscope setup to view the Gate. "Take a look," he whispered.

Three raiders. Two near Ronon, one guarding Teyla and Rodney. The latter two looked a bit roughed up but not really hurt. Ronon, on the other hand, didn't even look conscious. Earlier John didn't think it was possible, but of the two, he was certain Ronon felt worse than he did. He lowered the periscope.

"Sometimes you can hear." Ehrlim walked to the very end of the tunnel and very slowly lifted the trap door, allowing a thin slice of light to appear. John could hear indistinct voices. Ehrlim lowered the door again. He whispered, "I was in the tunnel when you fought the raiders. I could hear loud voices but couldn't see. I think the raiders know your friend Ronon from the past. One of them was really angry. He was talking about telling someone they'd found 'him' and they were giving him 'special treatment'. When the raiders left you for dead, I followed a little way in the tunnel. Two of them carried Ronon to the Gate."

Which changed the odds. John was hoping he could free his team and it would be four to three, even though his four were a bit under par. With Ronon unconscious it was even-up and the three would have to drag the fourth through the Gate. John re-checked the LSD. The nine raiders in town were getting closer to the outskirts and there was still no sign of the four searchers, who could come at any time from any direction.

"I can help." Ehrlim looked determined but frightened.

John shook his head. "Not your job. Your responsibility is your town. You have to stay safe to be the watcher."

Ehrlim persisted. "I know others would gladly help to get rid of the raiders. I can run to the caves to bring back more people."

"Ehrlim," John shook his head again, "this is not gonna get rid of the raiders. The one thing we have to do is make absolutely certain they don't learn of your system. They have to believe that each time they come, the whole town is mysteriously gone. Which means they have to think I'm acting alone."

"I want to help."

The kid was stubborn. "You have helped. I may still have something for you to do," John added. He saw the doubt and a boy's desire to be treated like a man. "Being a soldier also means taking orders." What John needed was a diversion. Chaos, to allow him time to release Teyla and McKay and the three of them would somehow get Ronon through the Gate.

John returned to the periscope and carefully took another look at the setup. The guard near Teyla and Rodney was probably the one Teyla had hit with her P-90; the goon was nursing a sore head, half asleep and certainly not on watch. The three of them were sitting against the Gate platform; Teyla and McKay were bound, hands in front of them. The other two guards were at a distance from the platform, talking, sitting on open ground, keeping a careless eye on their charge. Ronon hadn't moved. He was lying on his back, his face turned toward John. The man was trussed up like a mummy and John could see bruises and cuts on the arm, a swollen face and blackening eyes. The raiders had been in town long enough to appropriate a pile of goods ~ canned foods, fabric, chairs, tools ~ that sat next to the platform. The four missing raiders had evidently carried the loot to the Gate before taking off on their search. John couldn't tell at a distance, but he thought he could see his knife, maybe the butt of a P-90 in the pile. He re-checked the LSD. "Crap."

"What's wrong?"

"The four are coming back." Which meant whatever John was going to do, he had to do it before the odds changed again.

. . .

Author's Note: I pretty much always have a tag scene, even a tag line, in mind before I begin writing because that's how I 'aim' the plot - to head for the tag. And the details in the story have to match whatever ends up in the tag. Unfortunately, I still have no tag line, but the overall tag scene is generally known. Maybe that's why it's been so hard to write - I have no endpoint. [Also, trying to write the characters in S2 is hard since I have to un-remember how they will be in later years.]

There will be four chapters - teaser, setup, solution, tag. Once I polish things (make sure details fit), the next chapter will be posted. I'm hoping the tag scene will emerge naturally (if coaxed) after that.

We don't have cable and I've never watched a lot of tv (still don't). However, I have discovered *old* tv shows on a couple 'oldies' channels. Hogan's Heroes is one of those old shows, as is Star Trek (TOS). I may end up with a story idea coming from The Rifleman.

Thanks for reading (and for the comments in reviews and PMs - always appreciated!).


	3. All For One - Chapter 3

~ All For One ~

An Author's Note follows the chapter.

Word Count, Chapter 3: 2770

Disclaimer: 'Stargate Atlantis' and its characters are not mine. I would not have left them under the aegis of those whose interest lay elsewhere.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

"Ehrlim, I'm gonna need your help." John began tapping buttons, switching modes on the handscanner until he reached the correct setting. He turned to Ehrlim and spoke as he emptied his pockets, placing the contents on the dirt floor. "Take off your tunic and tear it into strips, about 'so' big," he gestured.

To give the kid credit, he didn't hesitate. 'Course the shirt was ruined already. "Like this?" Ehrlim wanted to be sure.

"Perfect. Give me six. And two more, twice that width. And I need some dirt." John used his heel to scrape the floor of the tunnel, but the workmanship was solid. He took out his jackknife and dug a few holes. "Sorry about this." He needed wood shavings. He crossed to one of the beams and whittled away at the support, leaving a gash to make small slivers. "Sorry."

"Now what do I do?" Ehrlim asked, holding up the strips.

John picked up his pencil stub and wrote a six-digit number on a piece of paper. "Can you read that?"

Ehrlim looked embarrassed. "I don't recognize it."

"Didn't expect you to, but no harm in asking. Here's the idea. I'm gonna create as much confusion as possible so I can free my team and we can get through the Gate. I need you to send a signal. This is important, Ehrlim. If you don't send the signal, they won't open the Atlantis Gate to let us in. So, after I create chaos, I dial the Gate and you send the signal. Does that sound like a plan?" Ehrlim nodded, so John continued, "Send the signal from the ladder. Understand? Do not go above."

Ehrlim nodded again, seriously, mindful of the order.

John drew dots on the paper, in columns, under the number he had written. "Here, hold the scanner. See this number? This is a four and under it are four dots. This is a six, six dots, et cetera. I want you to tap this button, here, four times, pause, six times, pause, then once, pause, and so on. Like on the paper. When you get to the end, start over. Repeat it 'til we're gone."

Ehrlim held the scanner carefully, a solemn responsibility.

"Here, take my shirt." John took off his blood-soaked jacket and black tee and handed the shirt to Ehrlim. He put the jacket back on. Ehrlim was still staring at the shirt. "What's wrong?"

"What is this fabric? It's very soft. It must be valuable."

"Ehrlim, if we get outta here in one piece, I'll give you a new shirt in your own size. And that's a promise." The kid pulled the too-large black t-shirt over his head with care.

John knelt and divided the dirt into two small piles. "Take three of the smaller strips and cover them in tallow. Then I need you to mix tallow with those wood shavings. After that, bring the bin and mix the tallow with this dirt." He pointed to a pile.

John stood and looked down the length of the tunnel. "Actually, you better give me a couple more big strips. Haven't done this since I was a kid." He took several torches from the bin, used the burning torch on the wall to light one, then went down the hall, placing the torches in sconces and lighting them. When he returned he picked the handscanner from atop Ehrlim's torn tunic, changed the mode, checked for life signs, re-set the mode and returned the device to the shirt. He plucked the chewing gum from the array of his pockets' contents and unwrapped a piece. "Try this. Chew it, don't eat it. When it loses flavor, toss it."

Ehrlim chewed warily. John unwrapped another piece, popped it into his mouth, chewed vigorously and blew a small bubble. He watched the kid's eyes grow big. He blew another bubble and unwrapped a couple more pieces. "Like it?" At Ehrlim's nod, John handed over the pack, including the unwrapped pieces.

Ehrlim had finished coating the fabric strips in tallow and the wood shavings and was beginning to mix tallow and dirt.

With his knife John made a cross-cut slit near center of a big fabric length. He placed dry dirt at the strip's center and pinched the strip between dirt and slit. He twisted the fabric to secure the dirt at the slit end, then pinched and twisted the fabric to secure the dirt on the other side. He threaded the long end of fabric back through the slit, then made a loose, one-flap-over-the-other tie.

His movements were going to be constrained, but John went to his knees in the center of the tunnel, held a hand to his rib and braced his muscles, and with the dirt-wad held by the tails, he swung it in a circle over his head ~ and let go. "Oops. Sorry 'bout that." The missile had smashed into a wall sconce and scattered. "I think the distance is right, but my timing's off." He quickly made another dirt missile and this time his technique was almost perfect ~ dead center. "Like riding a bicycle."

John re-checked the LSD before making two more dirt missiles, and this time he included torn bits of silver gum wrappers. He moved on to make smaller tallow-dirt wads, surrounded with tallow-shavings, rolled up in tallow-fabric strips.

"Ehrlim. Check the periscope. Has anything changed?" John went to the ladder, ready to raise the door to the outside.

"It looks the same to me," Ehrlim reported.

"Anyone looking this way?" John gripped the door handle.

"Not really. Everyone looks bored."

That was all John needed. He opened the door carefully, looked out, then started to swing the first gum-wrapper dirt-wad. He let go, and it landed a couple meters from Ronon. John wasn't sure Ronon was conscious, and he wasn't sure Ronon would recognize a gum wrapper, but the dirt and silver mix had lightly exploded on impact. Ronon opened his eyes. John didn't wait; he ducked back into the tunnel. "Everything still okay?"

"No one's looking this way. Ronon looks awfully hurt."

"We'll worry about that later. Anyone looking?"

Ehrlim took his duty seriously, took his time. "No one."

John slowly opened the door and aimed the second gum-wrapper dirt-wad to land near the feet of Teyla and McKay. The missile exploded, McKay jerked, but Teyla looked at silver fluttering in the breeze, at dirt and fabric, then she looked directly at John as he ducked underground. "Perfect. Anything changed?"

"Teyla saw you. She has a knife...on her leg? She's free and is cutting the short man's ties. She doesn't want him to talk."

That sounded like McKay. "What about Ronon?"

"He hasn't moved, but I think he's awake. I think the raider next to Teyla is asleep. She's taking off her shoe."

Perfect. So far the trick had been to give the missiles enough mass for distance, but not make them so big as to be noticed by the raiders. The next part had to be timed. "Keep looking. Tell me if anything changes." John took a tallow-wood-dirt-fabric ball, set it alone on the ground, and grabbed a torch to light it. "C'mon, burn." He blew on it lightly. He cut a slit in another fabric strip and placed dry dirt where he intended to set the smoldering ball. "Still okay?" At Ehrlim's nod John used his knife to roll the smoking ball onto the dirt patch, he twisted the fabric and threaded the tail through the slit. "Still okay?" John slowly opened the door, looked out, and aimed his slow-burn missile at a spot away from everyone, but where the breeze would feed the fire and carry the smoke to alert the raiders. The ball fell apart on impact and seemed to fizzle out. John ducked back into the tunnel and started on the next fireball. "Still okay?"

"I don't think anyone saw it, but I don't think it's working."

"That's why there's more than one." John had finished preparing the second fireball. "Still okay?"

"Yes, and I think there's a bit of smoke on the ground."

That was the balancing act. The coarse weave of the fabric strips burned well, but John didn't want the whole thing to burn too fast. The tallowed dirt added mass and fuel. Shavings, with limited oxygen, and fabric, with dirt to inhibit the reaction, should smolder at first, but spread and burn better after impact.

John opened the door, looked, and aimed another smoking ball. The goal was to make a line of fire in the low scrub that would smolder toward the Gate. The still-greenish field was no great fuel source; the fire would be stopped by the stream. All John needed was a cloud of smoke to create a distraction and as much confusion as possible. He made the last fireball. By the time he threw the third missile, chaos had begun.

"Remember," John addressed Ehrlim, "when I dial the Gate, you stand here on the ladder and send the signal."

On the ladder, his view impaired by the smoke, John saw one of the raiders was stomping on the smoldering brush, trying to use his boots to put out the fire. Evidently tallow had stuck to his soles and his boots were smoking. Another raider had begun transferring the loot from ground level to the safety of the platform. The raider beside Teyla hadn't moved. She was re-lacing her boot, so John inferred she'd hit him on the head. Again.

John prepared to leave his concealment. "Climb the ladder. Wait for the Gate. Don't even open the door enough to look out. Aim the scanner through the gap, tap the button." John pointed at the device. "I'll be back for that. With your new shirt."

Ehrlim looked proud and serious and also scared.

"You okay? You can do it." John studied the young man's face. "Wanna hear something funny? I thought today would be nice. An easy trip. And I was right. Meeting you has been nice. And this'll be easy. So, you ready?" Ehrlim nodded. John checked the area aboveground and left the tunnel.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

Teyla saw him through the smoke and nodded. She helped McKay to his feet, handed him her small knife, and directed him toward Ronon while she headed for what John hoped was the cache of their weapons. John eased up to the DHD and the physical exertion made him aware of what he'd been too busy to take note of ~ every square inch hurt like blazes. His leg cramped and his rib pulled ~ his breath caught in his throat ~ when he crouched behind the DHD and reached up to pat the first symbol.

When the Gate chevrons illuminated the two raiders froze, stupefied. In their moment of hesitation John saw Teyla rise from her concealment beside the platform. She cut through haze to take out the first guard with the butt of a P-90. She took out the second thug by swinging her weapon at the man's head. Behind her the kawoosh rushed forward and the wormhole established.

John turned to look for Ehrlim. He couldn't see the tunnel door so he just hoped the kid was standing on the ladder, sending the signal from safety. When John reached Ronon he discovered McKay had made very little progress cutting the bindings.

"How are we supposed to move him?!" McKay asked in panic. "He certainly can't walk on his own. Look at his knee!"

Every inch of John did hurt, but Ronon was in far worse condition. Still, he managed to communicate. "Lvvv m'."

"No way, Big Guy. We don't leave our people behind." John cut the ties with his knife and helped McKay remove them. "Can you stand if we both help?" Ronon couldn't even make the effort. John ran over to the loot pile and pulled out a rug. He unrolled it next to Ronon and then gently turned the man onto its plush surface. "C'mon, McKay." Taking into account his own rib and ankle, John hoped to leave most of the burden to McKay.

"Hey, what's going on? We saw the sm-"

The missing four raiders had arrived, sooner than projected ~ smoke draws attention ~ emerging from the line of trees along the stream. Teyla didn't let the leader finish his sentence before she fired her P-90. The raiders ran for cover, back behind the trees. John heard splashing and a pained yelp.

"Lvvv m'."

"Shut up, Ronon," McKay grunted while he pulled the rug. "Didn't you hear Sheppard? We don't leave our people behind."

Teyla ran forward to cover them, holding two P-90s; she'd piled the rest of their gear up on the platform. The non-stop staccato cacophony was a fearsome noise, inspiring enough fear, John hoped, to keep the raiders in hiding.

Ascending the platform steps was a slow process and McKay muttered under his breath with each rise. Atop the platform they were making slower time; the rough stone surface grabbed at the carpet backing, unlike the smoother glide over the foliage. Teyla had switched weapons and John calculated she'd soon have to reload. As they came abreast of their weapons-stack John reached down for his handgun and shoved it into his waistband. He tossed the rest of their gear onto Ronon and the rug. "Sorry 'bout that," he puffed; his rib complained with even wisps of breath.

The raiders regrouped enough to start an offensive. Teyla was backing up the steps, still firing non-stop. John heard another yelp; two down, he hoped. Blue light flashed between him and McKay. "What was that?" McKay squeaked. Whatever it was, it burned like fire and bled like Hell; John's arm was still oozing, his grip was sticky, there was blood on the rug. More gunfire ~ a single. John heard Teyla hiss, but she kept firing until empty.

John covered Teyla's reload with his handgun ~ specific targets for greatest damage by limited, spaced shots. Another yelp and a big splash. More blue light. McKay mewed and dropped his corner of the rug. John glanced over and saw his teammate crumple onto his side, an injury on both forearm and thigh.

"Teyla!" John was still firing his pattern. "Help him to the Gate!" John didn't know what the blue-light weapon was, but he hoped Ronon's gun could take on all comers. He tossed his sidearm onto the carpet and exchanged it for Ronon's blaster. Teyla had her P‑90 in position and was firing controlled bursts, walking backwards as she supported McKay, who was going forward, dragging his leg, his arm around her neck and shoulders.

John set the blaster's power at maximum and took careful aim to produce a paced, non-stop blam, blam, blam, that was shredding bark and splintering branches and hurling projectiles at anyone taking cover behind the trees. Over his shoulder John saw Teyla and McKay were nearly at the Gate. John stiffened his muscles to brace his ribcage and breathed small puffs. He leaned backwards, pulling on the rug, continuing the blaster barrage.

The nine raiders from town appeared in the distance, racing for the Gate, firing futilely from their current range. John concentrated on breathing quick wisps, bracing his ribs and inching backwards while pacing his destructive firing pattern. Quick-fire bursts, booming red blasts, blue light, distant-but-nearing shots. The rug suddenly snagged on the stone under Ronon's weight. John's feet slipped and he went down, hard. Pain tore through his chest; he couldn't breathe. Teyla shoved McKay through the shimmer and rushed back to grab the rug, continuing coverfire.

John breathed tight, measured gasps then he stiffened his abdominal muscles, in preparation; he rolled to his front and used his gun-hand on the stone to push to one knee. With that hand applying pressure to his side he rose unsteadily to his feet. He gripped his corner of the rug and nodded at Teyla. John drew a tiny breath, puffed "Go," and he and Teyla in unison backed a tiny step toward the Gate. He squeezed the trigger ~ blam, drew a bit of breath, "Go," another tiny step, blam, breath, step, blam, breath, step, blam. John backed through the Puddle, Gate Room personnel grabbed the rug, the wormhole collapsed as soon as Ronon's feet cleared, someone took hold of John's shoulders and ankles and John remembered watching the high, Lantean ceiling darken from aqua-blue to midnight.

. . .

Author's Note: The tag scene is slowly emerging. I've always known what information I want to be contained in the scene but the details and the dialogue are not presenting themselves to me very clearly. Fear not. I expect to finish the story - somehow - within a couple weeks (provided Life doesn't keep getting in the way).

Expressions of appreciation are always appreciated. Thanks for the PMs and reviews!

Thanks for reading.


	4. All For One - Chapter 4

~ All For One ~

An Author's Note follows the story.

Word Count, Chapter 4: 3602

Word Count, total: 11,256

Disclaimer: 'Stargate Atlantis' and its characters are not mine. I would not have left them under the aegis of those whose interest lay elsewhere.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

"Oh, good, you're finally here. I'm starving." Rodney McKay ceased his monologue at the arrival of food, allowing a respite for his captive audience. John had heard in great detail ~ at least twice ~ the story of what had happened on the planet after his own team participation had ceased abruptly.

Teyla came into the infirmary, pushing a rolling cart laden with items from the mess. McKay left his chair near the foot of Ronon's and John's beds and limped over to examine the fare. "Is there Jell-o and what's that?" He pointed at a tall glass.

"It is a nutritious drink for Ronon. And there was no Jell-o today so I brought pudding." Teyla placed the glass of greenish liquid on a tray, and set a bowl of brown mush next to it. She added milk to the bowl and stirred to make a thinner substance. "If you have not tasted chocolate, Ronon, you are in for a true pleasure. It is very nice as pudding, but it is best in a cookie. When your jaw is no longer sore and your teeth are not loose, you must try a chocolate chip cookie." She inserted straws in the brown and green liquids and took the tray over to set it on Ronon's lap. Ronon looked at the tray but didn't move. "I will put this on a table so you need not use your hands."

"They're called boxer's fractures," McKay interjected from where he was perusing the victuals. "It's a common result if a clenched fist is used to, well, punch a rather large, dense object."

John kept an eye on Ronon while answering Teyla's inquiry into his own choices for lunch. The big guy nudged the bowl with one hand but made no move to lean toward the straw.

McKay had finally lifted every dish cover. "No burger."

"You can go get one in the mess hall," Teyla reminded him.

McKay straightened and limped back to his chair. The limp was for show, John knew. Beckett had pronounced his wounds to be 'scratches', although the doctor was intrigued by the more-than-usual bleeding and the long-lasting painful 'burn'. There was also a short-term paralysis, which John was 'lucky' enough, according to McKay, to 'sleep through' due to his head injury. McKay's concern had not been the pain, but that the single path of blue light that cut across his forearm and thigh had been a little too close to canceling the future line of brilliant McKays.

"I hate eating like this. Help me up." John shifted the covers; the movement stole his breath. He closed his eyes against the pain in his ribs and flexed his forearm, which still stung.

"No can do, buckaroo," McKay responded without looking while he waited for Teyla to wheel the food cart toward him. "You heard Carson. Even though Mr. Gargoyle" –he absently indicated Ronon– "looks like roadkill, he'll actually be back on duty before you, despite the dislocated knee, cracked ribs, black eyes, and various other damage. You, my friend, will be stuck here due to that impossible ankle and your rib. If Carson has his way, you'll be in bed for a week. And even if he lets you out of here today, you still can't go on missions for months."

"It's not that bad." John slumped back against the pillows.

"Yes, it is. You can always tell ~ he adds another 'r' beyond his usual for emphasis and gravity." McKay struck a pose and raised his eyebrows to perform his impersonation: "Yerrr rrrib has torrrn away frrrom the carrrtilage, son. Ye'll need thrrree to fourrr months to heal. And therrre's yerrr ankle to considerrr. Ye'rrre lucky it isn't worrrse, because ye shouldna put any weight on it at all. And be carrreful of yerrr stitches, especially on yerrr arrrm." He frowned and resumed his normal stance. "Of course he barely looked at my wounds and I practically broke my wrist." He finished with an accusing look at Teyla.

"I heard it was a light sprain." John spoke quietly, in short spurts that required little breath. "Hardly worth bandaging." He glanced conspiratorially at Teyla. "In fact, when you fell through the Gate and 'practically broke your wrist' you were able to move away on your own and tell everyone to be prepared to help us. And we thank you, Rodney," John nodded in a kingly fashion.

"They already knew something was up." McKay was pointing at items and having Teyla load his plate; John wondered how long she'd let him milk the situation. "I didn't realize that you had used the handscanner to send your IDC."

"What should I have done?" John inquired mildly.

"No, it was actually brilliant." McKay picked up a pseudo-olive with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. "It's what I would have done. I just didn't think you, um, could figure out how to use the scanner to generate a pulse," he ended lamely.

"Thank you, Rodney," John nodded graciously.

In order to redress the equal-brilliance standing, McKay regrouped. "Yes, well, I would have sent code, not a cumbersome one-pulse-for-one, two-pulses-for-two, et cetera. You could have sent it faster and included information, not just sent the IDC." He finished layering meats and cheeses on bread.

"I didn't send the IDC," John reminded the physicist.

"Yes, well... Code would've been more efficient," McKay insisted before taking a mouthful of sandwich.

"You talk too much." Ronon made his observation again.

McKay didn't seem to mind the comment or perhaps he was too involved in eating to rise to an argument. "Well, it's better than not talking at all. How are we supposed to know what to do if you don't tell us what's wrong?" The question was uttered matter-of-factly, without heat or recrimination. McKay had made his own observation and then he went back to eating.

John wondered how Ronon would react. He watched the big guy during the uncomfortable silence. Teyla settled at a table with her own tray of food. There was no conversation.

"You should've left me."

Even for Ronon, that was pretty terse. McKay stopped chewing and just stared. Then he looked at John in confusion.

"A unit isn't efficient if it carries deadweight. I was no help." One eye was swollen shut, the face bruised and misshapen, but Ronon still managed a steady stare that he aimed at John. "You would've been better off without me."

John met the stare. "What happened wasn't your fault. And it would've been the same for the rest of us no matter what. Yes, I wish you hadn't been there ~ this time ~ because you took the brunt of it," he ended earnestly. "We're a team, Ronon. We work together. We all have something to offer, sometimes more, sometimes less, on a mission." He shook his head and gave a small, wry smile. "And this definitely wasn't your mission, Big Guy." He paused, inviting a response. "We all have the one responsibility ~ to the team. And as a team, we don't leave anyone behind."

Ronon was hard to read, especially when his features were so distorted, but he seemed to be considering the matter, contemplating what he might offer, whether he belonged.

McKay stepped into the conversation. "I don't think he gets it. Maybe you can explain it to him using the Three Musketeers' motto. 'All for one and one for all' is monosyllabic."

"Actually, it was d'Artagnan who said it first: 'Tous pour un, un pour tous, c'est notre devise'," John quoted. He was a little miffed that McKay's usual lack of tact had been so poorly timed; John was sure Ronon had been about to say something.

McKay stared momentarily, caught off guard. "It's still a catchy French slogan with single syllables," he asserted.

"It's actually a catchy Latin slogan, 'Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno' and that's really 'One for all, all for one'."

"What is a musketeer?" Teyla interrupted the exchange.

John shifted his focus and relaxed his demeanor. "On Earth, a long time ago, musketeers were soldiers in the service of the king of France. Please don't ask me to explain France."

Teyla smiled slightly. "I do not need to know, Colonel; it does not matter. It is a very strong sentiment." She looked at Ronon. "We are stronger together, as pieces of a whole, and the way to protect the whole is to protect each of the pieces."

"If you think you'd travel faster alone," John added, "speed isn't really an issue anymore, right?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting for agreement. "We could use your help, Ronon. What you know, up close and personal about the Wraith, is something that would take us years to learn, if ever. Look at what you've taught us in the short time you've been here. How you handle yourself, plus expertise and experience. Those are great team assets," John concluded, out of breath and trying not to wince.

Ronon said nothing. He looked long at John, then nodded.

"So, how do the raiders know you?" McKay asked around a mouthful. He looked over as he chewed, waiting for an answer.

"McKay," John admonished quietly. Ronon was going through enough without an interrogation. "Now's not the–"

"No. You should hear," Ronon intervened. He began slowly, the words slightly indistinct, uttered through battered lips. "At first I just ran, looking for someone to remove the device. Traveled light, took weapons off Wraith I killed. Never stayed more than a few hours." He paused and looked at Teyla. "My visits brought Wraith. So I went to abandoned worlds. Uninhabited. Unsafe worlds ~ sour air, vicious wildlife. Where Wraith wouldn't follow. I couldn't stay long, only to rest." He looked at McKay. "I met a group of men on an empty world." He redirected his gaze to John. "I was injured. A Wraith followed me. The men killed it. We went to other worlds. Wraith followed. The men killed them. I could sleep."

John looked at his teammates while Ronon spoke. Even McKay had stopped chewing, the sandwich forgotten in his hands. Teyla looked concerned; she had heard of Runners and now was learning the reality behind the legend.

"We met with other groups on worlds where there was no real local population. Men drew straws to kill the Wraith. It was sport. I was bait. It was a game." Ronon looked at each teammate. "I have no problem killing Wraith. For any reason. My role was to stay on empty worlds." He paused, looking into the past. "My group returned from an inhabited world. They'd sacked it. Hostages, supplies, livestock. Just another game. More sport. I knew other groups did the same; I'd seen people and animals under guard. What the raiders stole they sold to filth ~ humans who enslaved other humans."

There was a cold anger in Ronon's voice. John's comancheros analogy had been correct; raiders were vile outlaws, attacking towns and running back to hideouts, then selling their plunder to slavers. And John knew, even at the initial encounter, that Specialist Ronon Dex was not cut from that same cloth.

"I chose my time, when a Wraith was due. Several groups were present. The men were drunk. I freed the hostages, helped them take their belongings to the Ring. They left in the confusion when I blew up the camp." Ronon paused to look at each teammate again. "I stayed. To make certain the Wraith would come. Raiders are parasites. No different from Wraith."

McKay was eating again, with absent-minded movement, as if he were so immersed in the story that he'd forget to chew.

"I hid near the Ring. Made sure no one left. When the Ring lighted, a man came. One of the hostages. He had told me he'd bring back help." Ronon shook his head slowly in admiration. "It took real courage to return." A glint appeared in Ronon's eye. "He did bring help. A gun."

John had wondered about the technology behind Ronon's blaster. It seemed more advanced than what little he knew of Ronon's homeworld and the Satedan military.

"There are stories. Legends." Ronon shrugged and glanced at Teyla. "Of advanced worlds before the Wraith. The man said there had been seven guns. Probably lost or stolen. Forgotten through the ages. Except one ~ his family's responsibility. His family had always been farmers." Ronon straightened. "He believed the guns had been made to be used. I would use the gun. I'd be a better guardian." Ronon smiled. "We kept the raiders pinned down until the Wraith came. Afterward Tilbor went home. I went to raider outposts where I knew the addresses, destroyed two more camps. That was six years ago."

McKay spoke in the thoughtful silence. "There needs to be an interworld council to get rid of those guys."

A 'council' wasn't going to solve the problem, which was much greater than John had hoped; multiple gangs that could combine and could hide on any number of worlds. John hoped the rift in the gang they'd encountered had been intensified ~ the lead brute had to explain why he hadn't told the others about the team and how he'd let Ronon slip through his fingers.

The infirmary was quiet. Ronon gently nudged a straw with a bandaged hand but made no attempt to taste the liquids on his tray. John caught Teyla's eye and canted his head to indicate he wanted her to leave and to take McKay with her.

Teyla fished an item from her pocket and approached McKay. "I have something that may be of scientific interest." She opened her hand to display a small metal ball. McKay finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on a napkin.

"This is what Carson removed from your shoulder?" McKay rolled the large-pea-size object between forefinger and thumb.

"He said I was lucky it was 'spent' because it made only a bad bruise and minor flesh wound," Teyla answered.

McKay enunciated in an affronted manner, "All wounds are of the flesh." He rubbed the small bandage on his forearm.

"The doctor said it looks like a musket ball," Teyla offered.

"Well, it's a ball. You must have been hit by chance because accuracy of the weapon is probably limited. No rifling. Perfectly round and smooth. Hmm. I don't see any marks from the mold. And the metal…" McKay was led to the doorway by Teyla, so engrossed in his examination of the sphere that he forgot to limp.

"Has a musket ball anything to do with musketeers?" Teyla's question came just as they exited the infirmary.

John had asked for the privacy but he wasn't certain whether he should initiate a conversation; Ronon was so hard to read.

"You could choose anyone for your team. You hold an important position," Ronon said quietly.

John huffed a short laugh then grimaced in pain. "The head raider knew I was the least important member of the team."

Ronon shook his head. "You're a leader."

John smiled slightly. "You'll also notice hardly anyone calls me 'colonel'. That's because they're still in shock," he drawled. "In fact, most people were shocked I even made major."

Ronon maintained a long look without blinking. "It's not rank. It's what's inside you. Why people follow you."

"Does that include you?"

Ronon nodded once. "If you want." John still heard doubt.

"Ronon, I know you wanna be out there, going after Wraith. There's more to this war than individual attacks. We need a grand strategy to make the galaxy safe for all humans. And even on simple missions, like setting up trade, we can use you."

Ronon still didn't blink. "McKay talks too much."

"Don't make me laugh!" John groaned. "He's certainly your conversational opposite. That's what a team is ~ we balance each other. We combine strengths to minimize weaknesses." Ronon nodded again so John continued, "I guess I have to give up the hope I'll one day have a gun like yours." Ronon smirked through the bruises. "Maybe I could borrow yours?" John wheedled. "Or maybe I could get my hands on one of those blue-light things."

Ronon didn't bother to answer. With the side of his hand he moved a straw and bent to slip it into his mouth.

John felt good. Bruises, breaks, sprains, whatever, it had been a good mission in the end. The four of them had gone through fire and had been forged into a team. Ronon was a bit rough at the edges; it would take time for the fit to be smooth, but it would work. And John had the feeling that Ford and the big guy ~ easygoing Aiden and taciturn Ronon ~ when they had the opportunity to talk, the two men would like each other.

John relaxed against his pillow, mentally making a list. He'd need to put in requests for chewing gum and t-shirts. The Daedalus was on its way back to Earth. Surely by the time it returned to Atlantis Beckett would clear him for some offworld travel.

John was brought out of his reverie by the gurgle of a straw. He looked over and saw Ronon's bowl of pudding was almost empty. The big guy had discovered chocolate.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

John stepped through the Gate and looked around at the familiar view. Two months of limited duty and he felt long-past-ready for Gate travel. He'd promised Beckett not to overdo; even the gentle walk on level ground made his ankle ache and his breathing was still measured. John let his team gradually pull in front of him. McKay was again harping about useless trade missions.

Ehrlim's appearance was abrupt and unexpected ~ one moment he wasn't there, the next he was, walking in step beside John.

"I knew you would come," Ehrlim said a bit breathlessly.

"Are you the watcher again?" John asked. His teammates had turned in surprise at Ehrlim's voice, but then they left John and Ehrlim to their conversation. Teyla began quietly to tell stories of her history with the townsfolk to prevent McKay from continuing his disgruntled monologue.

"No, but I asked to be allowed to wait in the tunnel. I knew you would come," Ehrlim repeated.

"I'm sorry it took so long," John commented sincerely.

"I knew you were hurt. You and Ronon."

"Have the raiders been back?" John wanted to know.

"They don't usually come back for months and months, but we're being careful. After you left the raiders fought amongst themselves and a raider was killed. The rest of them searched the town again. They can't figure out what's going on. I think it makes them more dangerous," Ehrlim finished with a thoughtful tone.

John was impressed. "I think you're right about that. The raiders may also want to 'check their territory for poachers' so be prepared for unexpected visits for that reason, too." The conversation lapsed and John simply enjoyed the companionable walk.

After a long while Ehrlim hesitantly introduced a topic. "I think your device is broken." He was apologetic. "After things were back to normal I thought the device would help to keep track of visitors at the Ring, but I couldn't get it to work."

John put his hand on the youth's shoulder. "That was a good idea ~ the scanner to keep track of visitors." John felt the tension leave Ehrlim. "I wish I could give you one, but once it turns off, it won't work again if I'm not around to turn it back on."

When the team arrived at the edge of town a large gathering of people waited in the road. Evidently the current watcher had run ahead to announce the team's arrival.

Ehrlim gestured to a man and woman and introduced them as his parents. Ehrlim's mother handed John his black t-shirt, clean and crisply folded. The handscanner she pulled from her apron.

John took the shirt and scanner, which activated when he held it; he could almost feel Ehrlim's relief. John set his hand once again on the youth's shoulder. "Your son saved our lives." Ehrlim looked over at a teenage girl in the crowd. She blushed and Ehrlim stood a bit taller. John figured the kid was getting some mileage out of his adventure.

"You all know Teyla, and this is Rodney McKay, and Ronon Dex." John indicated his teammates. Teyla stepped forward to greet old friends. Ronon leaned over to set down a cylindrical bundle he'd been carrying on his shoulder. He laid it flat and unrolled the rug that was used to transport him through the Gate. A woman came forward to kneel and run her hand over the nap. She thanked Ronon, almost too emotional to speak.

John removed a drawstring bag from over his shoulder and handed it to Ehrlim. "As promised."

There were three shirts inside, in Ehrlim's size. Black, of course, red and blue. And chewing gum. Several flavors. The crowd murmured each time Ehrlim drew an item from the bag.

Standing at the edge of the curious crowd John was enjoying Ehrlim's demonstration of chewing gum techniques when several townsfolk approached to present him with a small, loose-weave fabric bag. John nodded and thanked them, then handed the bag to McKay. "I believe this is for you."

McKay fingered the rough material to divine the shape and size of the objects contained within. He raised the bag to sniff the contents. He looked at John. Even if it did smell something like coffee, it was still… "Beans," McKay muttered. *~*

...

Author's Note: I liked Ford. I wish they'd found a satisfactory way to have him depart. I understand why they replaced him; in terms of storytelling, he's essentially a younger version of Sheppard ~ he's from Earth, military, basically positive in his life outlook and the 'kid brother' kidding between Sheppard and Ford was eclipsed by similar banter between Sheppard and Rodney. Ronon brings a different view (unchanging ~ he will never see a reason to do anything but kill the Wraith) and a different skill set from his experiences. With Ronon on the team Sheppard is in command of essentially a trio of civilians, who can argue or refuse without fear of military tribunal. They have no formal reason to follow him. The ties that bind are of trust, friendship, and their faith in his ability to lead ~ to pursue the objective and keep his people safe.

We could see Ronon's doubt about joining a group in Runner, and some of his uncertainty when it comes to being on the Team in episodes like Condemned and Instinct, and we were still learning part of his background in The Shrine. This story is an attempt to show more of Ronon's early adjustment to being a team member and a little hint at what he might have been through in his Runner years.

And therein lay the problem ~ how to give a backstory to Ronon when he must explain it to others and remain 'a man of few words'. I kept cutting, cutting, cutting his lines and I tried to put part of it off on Sheppard by having him 'imagine' what Ronon had been through ~ and that didn't work. So, Big Problem to have the exposition made by a guy who never says a whole lot. Sheesh.

As for Ronon's gun, if it were possible to reverse-engineer it, Rodney would have done so, then everyone could have such a weapon. Alas, no. So, where did the blaster come from originally, how did Ronon get his hands on it, and how could the Travelers have some? The Travelers are not inventors, they find and repair things, so somehow they also came upon a couple of those guns...

For Sean and younger brother ~ it's not quite pirates, but does it suffice?

Thanks for reading.


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